Life on Mars

Sometimes I dream of sinking into the mud, like earth is about to devour me, to absorb myself fully into the thick ground and set me on another land.
Maybe there is life on Mars.
Maybe Northern Lights await me.

And in that surrender, I no longer resist. My body is no longer just mine—it is soil, stone, and memory. Fingers become roots, hair drifts like moss, breath lingers as mist above the barren plain.
What I thought was silence is only the echo of forests that once were, whispering through the green sky.
I lie still, not lost but transformed, as though light itself has found a place to rest within me.